A Third Holmes
by GEForde
Summary: It appears Sherlock and Mycroft have another sibling. Coping with a younger sister will be terribly trying for both brothers when she brings devastating news. The return of a certain villain doesn't help either. Assumption that Molly and Sherlock got together after Reichenbach and John has married a woman named Mary. Mycroft features. Constantly. OC, kinda self-insert. Cringing.
1. Chapter 1

My first attempt at fanfic. Review if you can be bothered - it would be much appreciated. Suffice to say, I do not own any of the characters you recognise.

xxx

The sun shone brightly as Dr John Watson stepped from the black cab after passing some notes through to the driver, telling him to keep the change. Shutting the door behind him and squinting against the sun, his eyes searched for where his companion had gone. He found him and started walking towards the crime scene they been requested to investigate.

After the events of last year, John disliked letting his best friend out of sight for too long. Of course, this was Sherlock Holmes, so not always entirely possible. But he worked with what he could and joined his flatmate next to, what Sherlock had dubbed him, 'the least annoying detective' at Scotland Yard and a few other plain clothed officers who stood at the final resting place of a body that had been lifted from the water that morning.

The army doctor came to a stop next to the grey haired Detective Inspector, crossing his arms and asked,  
"What do we know?"

Lestrade made to reply but the world's only Consulting Detective answered,  
"Dock worker. Was working the night shift." He took a long stride forward as both John and Lestrade rolled their eyes. "Killed in an altercation with his wife's lover," he continued circling the body with an air of disinterest, "who was planning to run away with her. But you will know find him in the nearest pub to this man's place of work drowning his sorrows for lost love after his mistress broke it off with him for killing her husband." He finished, sighing and looking into the sky, closing his eyes against the bright sunlight. "I genuinely thought this was more than a 6! God, I must be off today. John, I told you Indian food confuses my deductions."

Sherlock sighed again and pulled his phone out, John presumed to call the taxi company, when one of the police officers standing with Lestrade stepped forward. John inwardly groaned at the fate that was about to befall the young woman. Sherlock would surely have been disappointed in the lack of result from this case and decide to take it out on the girl. He looked at her as she moved towards the body, her movements eerily similar to his flatmates. Her brown curly hair was tied in a ponytail in a style that John could only associate with privately educated girls. She wore a dark green quilted jacket far too big for her, emphasising stick thin, ridiculously long legs. Her defined cheekbones and shapely lips caused John to blink and tilt his head. The woman looked awfully familiar, but most of her face was obscured by a pair of tortoiseshell ray bans and for the life of him he couldn't place her.

"That's exactly what I thought," she began, "but you missed this." She finished pulling the collar of the dock workers plaid shirt down to reveal a crudely drawn smiley face tattoo.

John's eyes widened at the recognition of Moriarty's little symbol when he summoned Sherlock in the Tower of London.  
Sherlock looked up from his phone sharply seemingly undisturbed by her discovery. She gracefully stood up and smoothly removed her sunglasses, flashing a brilliant smile at Sherlock. The detectives eyes narrowed and he said exactly the same words in exactly the same tone John had only heard once before:  
"What are you doing here?"

"Ah, you wound me, Sherlock. Are you not happy to see me?" The woman replied.

John had never heard anyone talk to Sherlock in such a playfully sarcastic manner. Apart from Irene Adler. But that was purely a seduction. No, this was more familiar, more friendly. No edge to her tone.  
Sherlock moved around the crime scene, jerking his head elegantly to the woman, indicating for her to follow him. He walked over to where the police cars were parked without a glance at the confused group. The other officers moved to the body sprawled on the floor, taking note of what Sherlock had said about it. She followed as John and Lestrade continued to look on curiously.

"Any idea who that is?" Lestrade asked.

"Not a clue." John answered, "Hang on, I thought she was with you..."

"So did I," Lestrade said, "thought she was an intern. Obviously not..."

The pair continued to look on as Sherlock and the mystery woman talked. The woman was standing casually telling John's flatmate something, emphatically. Who on earth was this woman? John's thoughts continued down the path that he certainly recognised her from somewhere. Surely not a celebrity? Someone from St Bart's or a case?

His thoughts were cut off as a black official looking Jaguar pulled up at the police barriers.  
"What's Mycroft doing here?" John wondered aloud to Lestrade, as Sherlock Holmes' older brother climbed gracefully from the car. Greg shook his head, equally miffed at the scene that was being played out before them.

Mycroft strolled over to his brother and the woman, the ever present umbrella hooked on his arm. He came up behind the woman and John saw him lift a hand in front of his mouth and imagined him clearing his throat in the most pretentious way. The woman spun around, a serious look vanishing from her face being replaced by the same smile she first flashed Sherlock. John genuinely didn't think he had ever seen anyone look at Mycroft that way.

A thought flashed through his mind. No, surely not... The cheekbones, fluidity of movement, the long strides, the familiarity and John was certain that if he saw her eyes they would be a piercing blue.

"No no no..." He uttered and Lestrade just looked on, confused.

His theory was all but confirmed when the woman threw her arms around the elder Holmes. Mycroft hesitated for a moment then returned the hug just as warmly, burying his pronounced face in woman's neck.

Lestrade waved his hand in the direction of the embrace.  
"Alright, I've seen it all now. What the hell is going on?!"

"I have no idea..." John answered slowly stepping forward towards the small group.

Mycroft released the girl and cleared his throat again when he saw the doctor making his way over to them. She looked up at him straightening the lapels on his designer suit, then stepping back and facing the new arrival to their group.

"Sherlock, please tell me this is not who I think it is, because I'm not entirely sure I could cope with the answer." John said warily looking at the girl.  
He saw Mycroft roll his eyes and a smirk form on Sherlock's face.

"Very well, John, I shall allow Mycroft to complete introductions, or," he said looking at the girl, "would you like to introduce yourself?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

The young woman gave a small smile before shrugging elegantly and stepping forward to John, a delicate hand outstretched.  
"John Watson, I presume? Sherlock's told me a lot about you. He holds you in the highest esteem."

John clasped the offered hand.  
"Yeah, hi, ah. What? How do you know...? You are...?"

She flashed the brilliant smile again and saw both Holmes' roll their eyes once more. John was also fairly certain he heard Sherlock mutter something that sounded like, 'always unnecessarily dramatic'.

The woman gave a chuckle that was equally familiar as it was foreign.

"As my brother commands: the name's Grace. Grace Holmes."


	2. Chapter 2

Thought I'd get on and post the next chapter as I had it waiting. Updates will not be regular as I have my A-Levels coming up, but after the 7th June (if this is still going) they should be. Once again, review s'il vous plait. I don't own characters you recognise.

xxx

Sherlock very rarely saw his sister. Not that he wasn't close to her, which he was. He and Mycroft shared an extremely protective nature towards Grace. People said they didn't care. They themselves believed it wasn't possible. Even Grace said she didn't But between the three Holmes' they all knew at the back of their brilliant minds the others cared a great deal. In their own way, of course.

But now, here she was. He and his brother had tried so hard for her not to be involved in their work. Tried and failed. She always popped in twice a year or so, getting involved in a case or a foreign policy and they always saw each other at Christmas, but Sherlock had barely seen her in the last two years due to her finishing off her doctorate on an advanced and intensive course and because there had been a psychopath wandering the streets of London with a vendetta against him. Having anyone, especially James Moriarty, know of his sister's existence was a danger to them all and would be used against them without hesitation. Sherlock even had a suspicion that Mycroft had somehow removed her from _the_ system, and just plugged her back in briefly whenever she needed to register for exams or book a doctor's appointment.

Mycroft had ensured she was tucked away at university in Oxford for most of the year, generally keeping her away from the capital, though near enough to reach her easily should the need arise. But the brothers had known and discussed (Grace was one of the only things they could converse about in a more-than-civil manner) that it wouldn't last and that her return into their lives was imminent after the events of last year.

And now it appeared Moriarty _was_ still alive. Sherlock had suspected, but now he had the conformation from the smiley face drawn on the dock worker. A sign left from him. But he would deal with that later. For now…

"Why is your hair tied up?" He suddenly asked, after Grace revealed herself to John.

Something about her was off, he decided, she looked thinner than usual and her already pale skin looked even whiter in the sunlight. Her eyes had the faintest show of red around them, as though she had been crying. But Grace never cried. Ever. Well, he thought, let's see what she has to say for herself. "You never wear your hair up because it reminds you of school, which brings about all sorts of memories..."

"Really, Sherlock?" She asked, eyebrow raised. "You've think something is wrong with me because I've put my hair up? And associated my hair style with my awful memories of primary and secondary education?"

He could see John in his peripheral vision still getting over the shock of discovering he had another sibling, and he was certain that witnessing Mycroft hugging anyone was indeed a traumatic experience.

"Oh no, dear sister. I _know _something's wrong." He did in fact know exactly what was wrong. As did Mycroft, apparently, owing to the rather large smirk that had formed on his face. Sherlock saw the defeat in Grace's blue eyes, so similar to his own.

"My hair is up because I didn't have time to wash it last night..." She said in answer to his question, looking over at her other brother to see if she really had to admit it to them. Mycroft's raised eyebrows said it all. Grace sighed before saying,

"Going out with friends leaves little time to wash one's hair," she huffed, looking away from her brothers and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Aha, and therein we have the issue: 'going out'," Mycroft intoned.

Sherlock looked over to John again, his brows furrowed and he still appeared thoroughly confused, but seemed to be getting some sort of semblance as to the rather dysfunctional relationship the siblings had.

"Wait," John began, "Sorry, what is the problem here?" He asked looking between the three Holmes'. "Is this just some overly, brotherly protection going on? Or am I missing something?"

Sherlock smiled at his flatmate. Always questions, he thought. But aloud he said,

"John, 'going out', as my dear sister puts it, is very much an issue for her, I'm afraid. You see," he said glancing at his younger sibling, "Grace is only 17." He finished with a smirk.

Grace looked around to him immediately, blue eyes flashing in defiance.

"But I don't see why that is such a big problem for you?! You break the law all the time!"

"Only when it's necessary." Mycroft supplied. "Apparently." Giving Sherlock a knowing look, one of his shaped eyebrows raised. Sherlock just looked back to his sister as they continued the increasingly boring argument that seemed to come up at some point or another whenever they saw each other.

"And it was 'necessary' for me to go out with my friends!" Grace replied shoving her hands into the all too big quilted coat, which Sherlock was fairly certain belonged to Mycroft. "Me drinking and going to clubs is really not that big a deal. I have two doctorates, for goodness sake! I can assure you I'm plenty mature enough to imbibe alcohol. See, I just used the word 'imbibe' in a sentence!"

Sherlock gave a low chuckle and looked over at John, who still seemed to be having trouble comprehending what was happening.

He glanced over John's shoulder to the Scotland Yard officers who were becoming increasingly interested in the group that had formed by the edge of the crime scene. He knew they were speculating as to who Grace was and would really rather they didn't Sherlock saw Grace open her mouth to continue her point and quickly said,

"Why don't we continue this reunion at Baker Street. Donovan and Anderson are staring at you, Grace, and I can feel your IQ dropping by the second."

With that Sherlock turned on his heel, his coat billowing, and walked over to taxi that had arrived for him.

Sherlock could visualise John gesturing in his direction and listened to him stutter, "I'd ah- better- ."

"Yes, yes John. We'll see you at your flat. Grace can come with me." He heard Mycroft say and recognised his gait as he turned back to his car, and Sherlock rolled his eyes once more as he imagined Grace flashing John another dazzling smile before following her eldest brother.

Sherlock waited surprisingly patiently at the door of the taxi after telling the driver where he needed to take them as he watched John gathering his wits while Mycroft's car speed off leaving a cloud of dust on the edge of the crime scene. Sherlock gave a small smile as he saw John physically shake his head as if to gain some balance in the increasingly odd situation and made toward the taxi.

Sherlock could see his thoughts were still centred on the latest addition to the Holmes' family, as his own focused on as to why Grace had come to London. He panicked for a quick moment when he wondered if he had forgotten her birthday, then realised she probably would have hit him for deleting that information again. He had reinstalled that date when he forgot her tenth birthday resulting in his Bunsen burner being tampered with and some very singed eyebrows. Apart from her slightly ill looking appearance, which he could easily attribute to a hangover, he could analyse that nothing had been outwardly wrong with her. The quicker he got back to Baker Street the sooner he would find out.

Lestrade fell into step beside John as he neared the taxi. Sherlock's eyes narrowed when the detective started talking.

"Who was it then?" The grey haired man asked. "And why the hell did she hug Mycroft? I mean, she made Sherlock laugh! Properly laugh, not 'laugh at Anderson's stupidity laugh, actually laugh!"

John just looked at him, obviously not really taking in anything Lestrade had just said. Sherlock tilted his head and thought that his flatmate looked a bit stressed.

"Ah, I'm not sure..." John shook his head, glancing at Sherlock, who raised his eyebrows in an attempt to get him to hurry. "Sorry, I'll, ah, call you about it later. There's something I need to discuss with Sherlock..." He finished as he climbed past Sherlock, who was still smirking, into the taxi.

The Consulting Detective felt an urge of mischievousness and impulsively he dazzled the D.I with a smile that he knew Lestrade had seen Grace use, and smiled all the more as he watched the police officer realise or at least guess who the woman on his crime scene had been.

Sherlock followed his friend into the cab, shutting the door and telling the driver to head on as he stole one last look at Lestrade who was still frozen with a baffled look on his face.

He settled into his seat with a smile still on his face when he felt John punch his arm with a surprising amount of force.

"Ow! What was that for?!" Sherlock exclaimed rubbing his sore bicep.

"First you die on me, but secretly don't die, then come back to life. Now you have a secret sister!?"John was looking at him in disbelief.

Sherlock blinked and could only assume this was one of the socially expected things one was supposed to tell their best friend. His eyes suddenly widened when he realised it was probably something one told their girlfriend too.

John had been watching the emotions flitting across his face, and the shocked look that had been present ever since he had realised who Grace was disappeared, and a smile spread across his lips.

"Ahahaha. You've just realised you've got to tell Molly, haven't you?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed at his friend's sudden deduction and frowned once again at the grin which had now taken residence on John's face.

"John –," Sherlock began.

"Oho, no, Sherlock. This one's all yours." John interrupted, "I cannot wait to see you explain to your girlfriend of nearly a year that you have a sister of seventeen years. Ha!" He finished and chuckled to himself once more before looking out the window knowing Sherlock wouldn't speak to him for the rest of the cab ride.

Sherlock glared at the back of John's head, quickly calculating the chances of convincing him to tell Molly and realised there was no point whatsoever, before turning his own head and watching the roads and cars go by out of his window as they entered central London. He folded his arms and considered how to explain this to Molly. Experiments on the kitchen table, body parts in the microwave and fridge were fine. But his sister. Well, that was a different matter entirely.


	3. Chapter 3

I have published this purely as a procrastination from revision. Exams in a week. Kill me. This one a fair bit longer than the others, and Grace's reasons for being in London are revealed. As always, reviews would be appreciated, ta very much.

xxx

Grace stepped from Mycroft's car looking up through her sunglasses at the terraced house that her older brother was leading her to. The car journey had been pleasant in that Mycroft barely spoke, only asking in general terms how she was and not really inquiring as to the reason of her presence. His focus remained mostly on his phone, but she could see he was bursting to talk with her. Grace could only assume that it was due to the presence of his assistant/ partner (Grace assumed partner due to their touching knees as they sat opposite her – she made a mental note to interrogate him about that later) and driver that was stopping him.

Grace strode across the pavement to the door that was being held open for her and she whipped her glasses off elegantly dropping them into her pocket. She gave Mycroft a smile of thanks as she walked past him allowing him to close the door behind her. She looked around appraising the wallpaper choice of the hallway, noting the flat next to Sherlock's landlady was still uninhabited and that said landlady was currently opening her flat door.

"Oh, hello Mycroft! Sherlock didn't say he was expecting you today. Well it didn't sound like he was expecting you: no gunshots." She trilled from the doorway to her home.

"Mrs Hudson. Today was an unexpected visit. Something required my immediate attention." His voice came from directly behind Grace and she glanced over her shoulder to him to see whether she should introduce herself and noted the forced smile that accompanied the false pleasantness in his voice. An almost imperceptible shake of his head left her silent. Mrs Hudson couldn't have known her identity then – no one did, really, but one could never tell who Sherlock actually trusted.

Grace shifted so her back was touching Mycroft's chest, barely, and remained unspeaking. She found much comfort in her brother's presence at this moment in time due to her dislike of meeting people in unfamiliar places. Well, meeting people in general actually.

Mrs Hudson seemed to take in Grace at her slight movement and looked over her, assessing her in a manner that made Grace blink. Grace had refrained from deducing the woman when she had first come out of her flat but now the notion was far too tempting.

_Croissant for breakfast, tea – builders, milk, two sugars -, phone call with a relative early this morning, sister probably, judging by the stress lines round her eyes, stress lines could also be attributed to her tenant who was most likely causing far too much noise all the time - _

Her deduction was cut off as Mrs Hudson cooed, "Ooh and who might this be?" Even though everyone present knew she already had a strong suspicion. Everyone they had encountered seemed to have a at least some notion. It was a risk when the siblings all appeared together; their similarities in all things were rather obvious.

Grace felt Mycroft take in a breathe to most likely tell an elaborate lie when she heard a voice from above her shout,

"Client!"

All occupants of the hallway looked up the stair to find a mop of black hair leaning over the banister.

"Really, Sherlock! I may be old but I am fairly certain this young lady is not a client! Not with those eyes and those cheekbones, young man."

Grace looked back from her brother to his landlady and felt an instant liking for the small woman – someone who clearly wasn't afraid to reprimand her most trying brother – and gave her a small smile to convey the feelings.

Mrs Hudson stepped forward and patted her on the arm.

"You go up to him, dear," she said leaning closer and talking more quietly, "We all know how demanding he can be, but once you're finished pop back down and we can have a proper introduction and a nice cup of tea."

Grace was suddenly overwhelmed by a blanket of warm feelings that she experienced ever so rarely. She blinked in surprise at her mind welcoming such motherly affections she was receiving from this woman she had only just met. The care and unconditional love that seemed to be lacking from the relationship with her own mother was something that never failed to upset her and she stiffened as her thoughts turned to her estranged parent.

Mycroft must had presumed the direction in which her thoughts were heading and placed a hand on the small of her back leading her from the hallway to the stairs which he then had to proceed to push her up, leaving Mrs Hudson with a terse 'good morning'. Her mind was still a whirl as she walked slowly into her brother's flat.

She had only been to 221B once on her bi-annual visit, the day before her brother found his roommate, in fact, but she had not met Mrs Hudson then, coming in the dead of night purely to annoy Sherlock. It had been cluttered just as all spaces belonging to him did but now she felt it had a more homely and a less messy feel. John's influence, she assumed. Or a woman's… she thought as she regarded some of the items that had been left out: a cooking magazine, a notepad with feminine writing scrawled all across, as well as a University of Cambridge alumni monthly which couldn't have belonged to Sherlock considering he and his other siblings had all attended Oxford. So Sherlock hadn't told her John had moved out, _or_ that someone else had moved in. She stored that information away for later and walked further into the room.

Grace knew what conversation was going to come as soon as they had all made themselves comfortable and eased back into all being in the same room again. The reason she had come to London and specifically sought them out. Admittedly she would always pop in occasionally when she was in the area, unannounced though, of course. But this was different and both of the men knew it. She could tell by the general atmosphere in the room.

"Where's John?" She asked, genuinely curious as she noted doctor's absence.

Sherlock had just seated himself in his armchair (judging by the air of comfort and familiarity he exhibited as he leant back in it) when she and Mycroft entered the room. Her question seemed to have jolted him from a quiet assessment he had been conducting on her and he looked into her eyes for a few seconds before blinking after apparently not finding anything useful and replying,

"Oh, John? He didn't appear to be feeling all that well, so I dropped him home on the way here." That confirmed her suspicions of him moving out. Sherlock shifted and his head followed Mycroft as he walked around Grace and took a seat in the desk chair next to Sherlock, leaving the only free seat opposite them both. Grace sighed and made towards it. Let the interrogation begin.

Sherlock continued talking,

"You know, I really don't think he reacts normally to surprises or situations he can't comprehend." He pondered, his index finger of his right hand tapping his lips as he spoke, "Those situations always seem to end in him punching me." He moved his had to rub his right bicep.

Grace snorted in amusement and removed her coat, draping it over the seat they had left for her, to reveal another oversized item of clothing: a hooded sweatshirt that had been Sherlock's at university. She came to the front of the armchair and saw Mycroft roll his eyes.

"What?" she asked, genuinely baffled by this particular use of his favourite gesture, as Sherlock only smiled.

"What is your obsession with wearing our old clothes, woman? Honestly, one would think you had none of your own!" He exclaimed, also gesturing at his coat she had taken from the boot room at the Manor last Christmas. Grace avoided going there as often as possible.

Grace gave another small smile and shrugged. All their clothes were comfy and made her happy to think of them when she wore them. Besides, she could scrub up rather nicely when she wanted. She looked around the sitting room, dropping into the chair elegantly, her blue eyes flitting over several personal touches that were no doubt Sherlock's. She had noticed the microscope on the kitchen table along with various test tubes and Petri dishes when she walked in and could see newspapers open around a laptop set on a coffee table over the other side of the room by another sofa, red pen circling stories that had caught with the detective or the doctor's eye. Grace could only assume both he and John still worked from Baker Street due to convenience. She looked at the mantelpiece and smiled fondly at the skull that rested their.

"I remember the day that you put that skull on the mantle at the Manor. Mother went absolutely berserk." Jerking her head at the fireplace, the memory vividly replaying in her mind: the reaction of their mother to the addition on her own mantelpiece.

Mycroft chuckled, something which Grace knew only she could genuinely elicit from him. Both her brothers were more open around her, they even got on in her presence, which was certainly unheard of. Even if it was usually to gang up on her.

"Yes, I remember that too. Though I think she reacted even worse to your 'death', Sherlock." Mycroft said, leaning back in his chair, his posture still perfect as he rolled his umbrella between his hands, its tip never leaving the floor. Even though they were decidedly better company with her, neither could still resist the opportunity to bait the other.

Grace had, of course, heard of her brother's death and been absolutely heartbroken. While she knew the newspapers were telling lies about his supposed fabrication of intellect, it still felt like someone had ripped her heart out when Mycroft came to Oxford to tell her. She didn't actually read the newspapers and barely took notice of the news, so hadn't known until days after it had happened. For weeks, Grace didn't eat or sleep, attend lectures, reply to her other brother's phone calls and texts. Even mother had attempted to intervene, but had failed spectacularly. She was a mess and could not accept Sherlock's death. She couldn't even attend his funeral. Her friends at university thought she had come down with something and stayed away for fear of infection, so it was a blessing when she didn't have to deal with insufferable attempts to comfort her. So when Sherlock had tracked down and dismantled the majority of Moriarty's criminal organisation, minus it's leader and a few select lieutenants and gathered enough evidence to prove his actual genius, just under a year after his fall, he revealed himself to society with the help of one Molly Hooper - who Grace could only assume was the woman living with him now. She had been overjoyed and intended to come and give him a serious beating for dying on her before realising that her third year dissertation was due in the next week and she had done no work on it for all her grieving (although due to a hasty intervention from Mycroft, he and his position ensured an extension was given; due to extenuating circumstance). Between then and now, neither had been free at the same time to visit one another, this being the first opportunity to leave Oxford after deciding to pursue another degree and she knew that Sherlock would surely have had enough time to slip back into his old routines.

After Sherlock's 'death' she understood her brothers' need to protect her from their enemies, Moriarty being a fine example, and their insistence that she stay away from London. Although she knew full well she didn't have to be in London to be effected by her brothers' reputations. The smiley face on the dock worker's neck brought their protectiveness back into perspective for her and her mind drifted to Moriarty… She could deal with that later.

"Pushing the topic of conversation on to me, Mycroft, will not delay the discussion we are to have with Grace about her presence in London for very long at all." He sniped, narrowing his eyes and turning towards his sister, settling back into his leather chair, crossing his legs with practiced ease. "I am afraid, Grace, that story is for another time."

Grace just rolled her eyes. It was blatantly obvious he had couldn't narrow down the ideas as to why she was here to a satisfactory number and it was very much annoying him. Sherlock then added,

"Anyway, I know you know how I did it."

She only shrugged to this and slouched in the comfortable armchair, stretching her long legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankle under the coffee table which had a set of curious looking knives set upon it in an ornate box. She placed her elbows on the arms of the chair, clasping her hands together and propping her chin on her thumbs.

"It's true. They don't call me a Holmes for nothing."

They lapsed into an easy silence, Grace looking at both of her brothers intently, her expression unreadable as they looked back trying to find an opening to what she was thinking. Finally, Grace sighed and leant forward, picking up one of the small curved blades from the table in front of her and sat up in her chair crossing her legs in the exact same manner as Sherlock's, twirling the knife by the long wooden handle continuously with her fingers. She cleared her throat and said,

"I have something to tell you."

"We assumed as much," Mycroft answered looking over at Sherlock, who nodded but didn't take his eyes off his sister.

"I –," Grace began but Sherlock interrupted,

"Something's wrong. Really wrong. You're wearing your hair up, bags under your eyes, recent weight lost, you being here in London and you're avoidance to tell us why. Come on, Grace. We're your brothers! We never see during the year and now you're here staying at a hotel somewhere in Kensington, I assume by the scent of your body wash, without Mother and most probably not on university business. I can only deduce that you have either become pregnant, dropped out of university, or… are seriously ill,." He concluded, barely taking a breath through his reasoning's. "Wouldn't you agree, Mycroft?" He added.

"Hmmm, something is most certainly not right… I have come to the same conclusions as you." Mycroft was looking at Grace intently, the middle finger of his left hand tracing his bottom lip as his elbow rested on his knee, obviously deep in thought.

"Or, I could just tell you which of the three it is, if you'd rather. Honestly! I had no intention of not telling you. You just interrupted before I could!" Grace threw her hands up incredulously before placing the knife back on the table.

"Very well," Sherlock said sitting forward in his chair, his blue eyes regarding her coolly, "do tell."

Grace cleared her throat again, noting how much more difficult this was compared to how she imagined it and muttered loud enough for the men to hear.

"I'm fairly certain which of the three I'd rather it was…"

"Aha!" Sherlock cried leaning forward to the edge of his seat and clapping his hands, "So you're pregnant! Well, congratulations! Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and kill the young man who dared touch my sister." He said making to get up, but was stopped by the poignant look that Grace was giving him. She felt an overwhelming wave of misery and her chest tightened. She shook her head, looking down into her lap and said with a sad smile,

"I'm afraid not, Sherlock. Though I commend your protectiveness in such a situation. Now I think about it, both your other deductions are correct. I have, in fact, ceased my education at the university due to your third deduction." She looked up at her brothers and then over their shoulders to the wall so she wouldn't have to look at their pained expressions for any longer than necessary. Their faces told her they had some idea of what was to come. She just needed to say it, get it over with.

Her mind was suddenly a jumble of pain and sadness and she physically shook her head once to get rid of the buzzing that had settled somewhere deep in her ears. An uneasy feeling had developed in the pit of her stomach.

Grace had dreaded this moment since she had met with her doctor (under a false name so that Mycroft had no idea or interference in the matter). Her brothers' reactions to the news had been her first thoughts after the numbness of the discovery had worn off .

Grace Holmes took a deep breath, looking alternately between the people she loved and admired most.

"I have cancer."


End file.
